Shadow 096 - The North Woods Mystery 02-15-36, The by Maxwell Grant

Author:Maxwell Grant [Grant, Maxwell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Street and Smith
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

RIDING two miles out from the point, the occupants of the canoes could not possibly have been identified by persons on the rocky point. The sun was low; waves had reduced to ripples as the two canoes plowed forward. Mundon was an expert paddler. Single-handed, he was keeping pace with Harry and Alphonse.

Harry chanced a glance across his shoulder. He noted that Alphonse was exerting considerable effort. This increased Harry’s doubts about the fellow. It seemed odd that a guide, with a bow paddler to aid him, should have difficulty in pushing past a canoe that was handled by one man only.

They neared the northern shore, with Mundon still in advance. They were heading toward a spot to the right of the old mining camp. Harry saw Mundon pause and eye the shore line, which had become hazy.

“Look there!” exclaimed Mundon. “Dead ahead, by the mouth of that small creek. A canoe with something swimming alongside.”

“Beaver, maybe,” observed Alphonse, stretching to peer past Harry’s shoulder. “Oui. I see beaver. Two.”

“Do you know who’s in that canoe?” queried Mundon, suddenly. “It must be Beaver Luke. Let’s go over and see.”

“Who is Beaver Luke?”

Harry put the query to Alphonse.

“Never hear of Beaver Luke?” The guide spoke in a tone of mild surprise. “I thought every one knew who Beaver Luke is.”

“I never heard of him.”

“He is one man that is friendly with many beavers. The government pays him to go everywhere. Beaver, they follow him. They build in those place where Beaver Luke tells them. He is one Indian, Beaver Luke.”

They were close to the canoe at the entrance of the creek. Harry saw a splash as a fair-sized beaver twisted in the water and flapped its flat tail. Another beaver followed; then a third. All went scudding to the shore.

A fourth beaver plopped from the bow of Beaver Luke’s canoe. Then a huge patriarch of beavers poked its whiskered nose above the gunwales and made ready to follow its more timorous companions. The hunched man in the stern of the canoe straightened and delivered a series of loud, peculiar grunts.

The big beaver hesitated; then turned its head shoreward and gave grunts of its own. The swimming beavers paused restlessly on shore; then came swimming back to the canoe. Evidently the Indian and the old beaver held full command over the tribe. Other beavers were appearing from bushes on the bank.

“Beaver Luke is wise,” commented Alphonse. “He knows the beaver language. You have heard him speak, m’sieu’.”

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